


fortunate accidents

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [39]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt gets in an automotive accident; the other party, it just so happens, is one Hermann Gottlieb, Newt's long-time pen-pal.





	fortunate accidents

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital, this is sort of awkward, are you okay?"

The bright white of LED strips is nearly blinding, and Newt has to blink a few times. Everything is unfocused, and when he reaches for the bedside table to grab his glasses, his fingers don’t make contact with anything. He reels for a moment, unable to process the input; he’s in bed, in a room, but not—

—not  _his bed._ Is it? Why?

There’s a rasping sound, heavy cloth on cloth, a sort of dusty scraping, and someone clears their throat. Newt squints. “Whoever you are,” he says. Pauses, startled at the hoarseness of his own voice. Starts again. “Whoever you are, can you, um, hand me my glasses?”

The person—a vague, dark, fuzzy figure in his periphery, draws in a startled breath. “Yes, I—” he flounders for a moment. “Yes, I…I can. Ah, here.” The figure shifts closer, enough that Newt can reach the glasses without straining when he extends an arm.

The glasses slip down the bridge of his nose slightly, a familiar comfort, and, out of habit, he shoves them back up before wincing at the pain the motion elicits.

Finally, he turns to the other, observing him for the first time, the world in sharp focus. He’s tall, taller than Newt, but slim and poised, dressed in clothing that looks like it belongs to an Oxford professor from the nineteenth century. Newt’s eyes slip to the cane in his hand, and he says, after a moment of silence, “Um, do you want to sit down?”

The man bristles, tone sharp as he snaps, “ _No_ , I’m  _perfectly capable_ —”

“Dude, chill,” Newt raises his hands in surrender, “I was just being polite. Jeez.”

The other’s expression smoothes over a bit, apparently satisfied with Newt’s words.

Newt runs his tongue over his teeth, wondering at the cottony feeling in his mouth. “…we’re in a hospital, right?” he finally asks, and the other nods.

There’s something in his expression, something like guilt, and he says, softly, “I—we were in an accident and…well, I’m afraid that your car did  _not_ come out of it in as good a condition as mine did.”

Newt ponders the words in silence for a moment. “Oh.”

A tight, pained smile flits across the other’s face. “Yes. I am terribly sorry—”

“It’s fine, dude, it happens to the best of us,” Newt reassures. “But that doesn’t explain why  _you’re_ here.”

“I—” the other pauses. “Well, I thought that I should apologise.”

Newt hums. “Well, dude, thanks.”

There’s another silence, and Newt instinctively fidgets with the bedsheet in an attempt to calm himself. He wonders, briefly, what Hermann will say when he finds out about this; probably scold him for not watching the road, worry buried under it all.

“I—they didn’t tell me your name,” the other blurts, breaking the quiet, and Newt drops the edge of the bedsheet, startled. “Oh, I—I hope I’m not being presumptuous,” he stammers, fingers playing with the head of his cane, “I simply—”

“No,  _dude_ , it’s  _fine_ ,” Newt placates, but the other looks unconvinced. “If it makes feel better about it, how about I tell you mine and you tell me yours,” Newt proposes. For a second, something like—  _apprehension_ flashes through the other’s eyes, before he sighs.

“Alright,” he says, “yes, that—I’m amenable to that.”

“ _Sweet!_ ” Newt exclaims, grinning. “I’m Newt.”

“Surely that isn’t your given name,” the other scoffs, a flicker of something unidentifiable across his face, gone as soon as it’s there; a trick of the light.

Newt’s grin morphs into a crooked smile. “Nah,” he admits, “’s short for Newton.”

“  _Newton?_ ” the other asks, suddenly pale, “  _Newton?_ ”

Newt blinks, taken aback. “Yeah, dude, that’s my name; don’t wear it out,” he jokes. “Why, did I do something?”

The other shakes his head, but he’s gone so pale Newt’s afraid he’s going to faint, but, thankfully, he slumps down into the chair by the bedside. “  _Newton_ ,” he repeats, and lets out a helpless laugh. “Of course, it’s just my luck—”

Newt’s mind is…well,  _confused_ would be putting it lightly. It’s giving him a headache. “ _Dude_ ,” he huffs, “can you just what the hell has got you worked up?” The other’s beginning to worry him, and he says, “Maybe you should eat something, or drink some juice—could be low sugar; your  _really_ don’t look good, dude.”

The other shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not—” he stops, biting his lip in a motion Newt suspects he doesn’t even realise he’s doing. “Of all the people I could get into an accident with, of course, of  _course it’s you_.”

He looks at a loss, and so, so small, and despite being a complete stranger, Newt has the urge to reach out and hug him. He lets out a rattling sigh. “Newt—  _Newton_. We know each other.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Newt shoots back, “I mean, I think I’d remember someone as pretty as you.”

“I’m not— _pretty_ ,” the other snaps, before realising he’s getting off topic. “That’s not—oh, blast it,” he mutters. “Newton, we  _do_ know each other. My name is Hermann Gottlieb.”

Newt’s brain does something close to short-circuiting as it attempts to process the information, and he lets out a weak noise. “…oh,” he says lamely, then, again, “oh.”

“Yes,” Hermann— _Hermann,_ it’s actually him,  _in the flesh_ —agrees. “Indeed.”

“Well, this is…awkward,” Newt laughs, slightly manic. “Um. Shoot. I don’t know what to say, dude. Except, like, thanks for coming to see me, I guess?”

Hermann scowls. “Don’t— _joke_ about this,” he snaps, “you could’ve  _died_ , Newton.”

His eyes are glassy, and he pulls off his glasses, dragging a hand roughly over them. “You could’ve  _died_ and then where would we be?”

“But I  _didn’t_ ,” Newt points out. “Look, dude, think about it like this—this is kinda lucky, I mean, all things considered, since we finally got to meet.”

Hermann’s mouth is still a tight line, but the lines are softening. “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” he says, slightly wetly. “Though this isn’t how I had imagined our first meeting to go.”

Newt shrugs, as much as he’s able. “Yeah, well, life be like that sometimes,” he says. “Just out of curiosity, how  _did_ you imagine it going?”

“Oh, well,” Hermann says, gaze fixed on the floor, and Newt gets the distinct impression that he’s—  _shy_. “Well,” he says, again, “perhaps a nice coffee-shop; we would get a bite to eat together and  _talk_ …”

“Dude,” Newt says, because he has to say  _something_ , because if Hermann’s saying what he  _thinks_ he’s saying—“dude. Like, a date?”

Hermann flushes, ears turning a bright red. “Well—”

“—cause, like, that sounds  _awesome_ , man,” Newt barrels on, praying that he’s not wrong. “Like. Same. Um. To the dating. I mean.” Oh damn it, he’s getting tongue-tied.

Thankfully, Hermann seems to understand what he’s saying, head snapping up to meet Newt’s gaze, and draws in a sharp breath. “Er,” he says, “…would you…still be amenable to that? To, um, a—date? Once you’re discharged,” he hurries to add.

“ _Dude_ ,” Newt says, grinning like a loon, “yeah. Yeah, that sounds— _neat_.”


End file.
